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COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



The Soul of the Singer 

AND OTHER VERSES 



BY 

H. GRAHAM DU BOIS 




Boston 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

Ubc ©orbam press 
1908 



Copyright, igo8, hj> H. Graham Du Bois 



{All Rights T^eserved.] 



U88ARY of OONGKE33. 
1 wo Copies Kece.'ve.! 

MAY 29 1908 



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< \ * 



7"/?f majority of verses appearing in this volume 
were first published by ''The Baltimore News,'' 
''The Outing Publishing Company,'' "The Taylor- 
Trotwood Magazine," and qther periodicals. 



The Gorham Tress, Boston, U.S.A. 



TO 
THE MEMORY OF 

WILLIAM WARD CRANE 

FOR MANY YEARS MY INSTRUCTOR AND FRIEND 
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 



CONTENTS 



The Soul of the Singer 

Autumn 

A Song of War 

At Nightfall 

The Miracle 

Love Song . 

Dawn and Dark . 

A Christmas Memory 

Faith . 

A Life Song 

To Thee 

The Call of the Woods 

Changeless . 

The Little Boy's Drum 

I Love Thee, Dear 

Inspiration 

The Song of the Wind 

Premonition 

When First I Saw To\ 

The Falsehood 

A Farewell . 

The Road to Happiness 

Lullaby 

Unrequited . 

The New Tear 

Transformation 

The Dream Train 

Evolution 

Old Ruins . 



der Face 



7 
8 

9 

10 

II 

12 

13 
13 
14 

15 
16 

17 
18 

19 
20 

21 

22 

23 
24 

25 
26 

27 
28 

29 
30 
30 
31 
32 
32 



Nature-Worship . 






33 


The Rivals .... 






34 


Weariness .... 






35 


Forsaken .... 






36 


Antietam .... 






37 


Life's Aitist. 






37 


Destiny .... 






38 


In Autumn .... 






38 


Moonrise .... 






39 


The Valley of the Shenandoah 






40 


Reconciled .... 






42 


A Prayer .... 






43 


Fragments .... 






44 



THE SOUL OF THE SINGER 
AND OTHER VERSES. 



THE SOUL OF THE SINGER 

He sought elusive souls of songs 

That he might sing to weary throngs. 

He touched the trembling key of Tears, 

The note of Pain: a dirge of fears 

Deep stirred their hearts; he bowed his head 

"To laugh is best," he vainly said. 

His fingers found the key of Bliss, 

The empty note of Happiness; 

The music of his singing wrought 

No peace of soul, no depth of thought: 

The mirthless laughed, and turned aside; 

'*A holy thing, to weep," he cried. 

"A singer's soul, O God, he pled;" 
'*Thy lips are mute," the Master said, 
"Until they drain the cup of loss. 
And taste the passion of the cross: 
For sweet the songs of those who sing 
Through miracles of suffering." 

And then he knelt above his dead; 
"This is the cup, the cross," he said, 
"For love has been, and love has died, 
And hope has stirred, been crucified: 
I hold the message of the years, — " 
He sang: they smiled — amid their tears. 



juruMX 

A path thick-strewn with leaves, 
A held oi harlev sheaves. 

A naked tree; 
A rose, a thought, a sigh. 
A dead leaf whirling bv — 

And memon\ 



A SONG OF WAR 

Go out, go out on the firing line. 

From peaceful realms atar. 
Where sabres ring and bullets smg 

In the desolate song of war; 
And heed not now the aching brow. 

The soothing hand denied — 
But what of a woman's sorrowing tears. 

And what of a man that died r 

Go out, go out on the firing line. 

Where ghastly forms he still; 
Forget the love of God above. 

And onlv strike to kill. 
.And turn awav with those who slay 

From the wounded marrvTS side — 
But what of a widow's pining brood. 

And what of a man that died : 

Go out, go out on the firing line, 

-And breathe the breath oi Cain. 
Where death is sweet, and bleeding teet 

Must tread the way of pain; 
And mark ve not the bloodv spot. 

Where little children cried — 
But what of a voice from Calvary, 

-\nd what of the Man that died : 



AT NIGHTFALL 

A dim remembrance brings a dream 

Of days long past when hearts were young, 
And Life and Love were one dear theme 

From soul to soul in rapture sung; 
And now, at nightfall, when the shade 

Of evening rests on vale and hill, 
My faded lips on thine are laid, 

And low I whisper, ** Sweetheart," still. 

Amid the shadows, sweet young hands 

Reach out to grasp my own in prayer: 
My claspt hand thrills, and understands — 

Thy withered ones are resting there; 
But still my plea is not to dream 

That Youth's fair hand in mine I hold. 
For now it sweetest gain I deem 

That hand in hand we're growing old. 

The twilight falls upon thy face 

And veils each weary line of care; 
Across the years I look and trace 

A wonder and a glory there. 
Thus, side by side, through fear and strife 

'Mid bleak and stormy weather. 
The hearts that faced the dawn of life 

Will brave the dark together. 



10 



THE MIRACLE 

A marshland dank where leaves lie dead 
In the crimson flood the sunset shed; 
Black, withered stalks, 'mid tangled weeds, 
That bend to drop their barren seeds. 
A shrunken snake that starvins; lies. 
Too lean to tempt the hungry flies. 
Grim silence reigns; no passing breath 
Of wind disturbs this haunt of death. 
Then, all at once, a warming breeze 
Ripples the pools and stirs the trees. 
And out of the gloom of voiceless things 
A lily blooms, and a wild bird sings. 



II 



LOVE SONG 

Bright eyes that shine to guide me, 
Like planets in the night, 

Thy tender beams 

Will bring me dreams 
Of morning and the light; 
So if my feet should chance to meet 
A dark and hidden way, 

O stars of love, 

Shine bright above, 
And make of night a day. 

Svs^eet cheeks that bloom to bring me 
A bud when all is bare. 

Thy beauty thrills, 

And, thrilling, fills 
The bleak and barren air. 
When thro' dead leaves and garnered sheaves 
The winds of autumn sing. 

My heart will know 

Where roses grow, 
And I will dream of spring. 

Dear heart that lives to lead me 
A-down Love's golden stream, 
Of all my songs 
To thee belongs 
The best and dearest dream. 
So shine to-night, O stars of Light, 
And roses lend thy hue. 

And doubting heart 
Perform thy part 
To make my dream come true. 



12 



DAWN AND DARK 

Dawn, and dark: a little light between 

To mark the way 
To sleep and rest and dreams, perhaps — 

And that is day. 

Birth, and death: between their borders lie 

A field of strife, 
Where battle Love and Hope and Fear — 

And that is life. 

Night brings dreams, and each new morn that 
breaks 

Unfolds a rose: 
So after death what worlds may dawn — 

Who knows, who knows : 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY 

The yule-log burns, and tender glow 

The crimson chimney spaces; 
The shadows dance, and backward throw 

A light in empty places. 

The years are here — the long dead years 

That haunt the winter rain; 
I hear the patter of their tears 

Against my gloomy pane. 

I dreamed, I know, and yet I thought 
I breathed the breath of pine. 

And miracles of love had wrought 
A little hand in mine. 



13 



FAITH 

A thousand times when hope has died 

And peace was lost in bitter fears, 
Like weary ones our hearts have cried 

And prayed reHef with silent tears. 
Perchance our prayers ne'er brought reHef 

And all our tearful faith was vain, 
And yet, when deep the soul in grief, 

We weep, and pray, and trust again. 

"The sun will light to-morrow's way." 

So sings the heart when eyes are dim, • 
And e'en from lips unused to pray 

Arise the whispers of a hymn. 
Men see the night, yet watch the spark 

Of light that tells of nearing dawn. 
Much like a child who dreads the dark 

But trusts the hand that leads him on. 



14 



A LIFE SONG 

Ah, Life is brief; 

With shades that bend 

Across the way, 
And dreams that end 
At close of day. 

Ah, Life is sad; 

One fleeting hour 

In Love's bright reign, 
A faded flower 

And memory's pain. 

Yet Life is sweet; 
No night so dark 

But holds a star, 
To guide our bark 
To ports afar. 



15 



TO THEE 

The mist comes, and the sun dies; 
Shadows steal across the skies — 

Darkness over land and sea! 
But out of the gloom my spirit cries 

To thee, to thee. 

The stars shine, and the moon beams, 
In meadow-lands the poppy gleams — 

The past comes back to me; 
And in the night my spirit dreams 

Of thee, of thee. 

Land and sea the mist forsakes. 
The stars fade, and the sun awakes 

Across the sky and sea: 
And in the dawn my poor heart breaks 

For thee, for thee. 



THE CALL OF THE WOODS 

Here near the brook, 'neath the shade of the trees, 
'Mid the odor of pine and the whispering breezy. 
Raise we our camp, and each weary breast 
Finds here a home, and feels here a rest. 
Now by the stream that murmurs along. 
Through the silence of ferns like the breath of 

a song, 
Hollow a spring in the silvery sands. 
And quaff a cool drink from the depths of the 

hands; 
Then hark to the notes of the bird o'er his nest 
And catch the last gleam of the sun in the west; 
And watch the bright stars as they tranquilly rise 
To twinkle their message of rest in our eyes. 
The vast world is dim to us wanderers now. 
For the calm of the wilderness rests on the brow — 
The quiet of the shadows that tenderly gleam 
To lull us to sleep with the voice of the stream. 
God's silence is here — the absence of pain, 
The dawning of peace, the sweetness of gain. 
We were weary to-day with the burden of loss. 
And the call of the woods has lifted the cross. 
O restless ambitions of desolate years. 
Bearing us naught but struggle and fears, 
Cease thy wild callings to us of the night 
And guide us, O Nature, to realms of the light. 
And now by the fire, whose soft dying beams 
Are leading us home thro' the mist of our dreams. 
Let us lie down with our face to the skies, 
While smiles wreathe our lips and tears dim our 

eyes. 



17 



CHANGELESS 

The world is old, yet ever new, 

Unchanging with the years; 
Each heart must have its sacred joys, 

Each hold its secret fears. 

The sun that greets our hopes, to-day, 

And sees them crucified. 
Shone forth, dim centuries ago. 

When Christ, the Saviour, died. 

The deathless song we love to sing 

Was born in ancient night; 
The poet now conceives the dream 

And sings a song of light. 

Philosophers, in ages past. 

Far sowed a golden seed; 
The Present reaps a harvest rare, 

Without one barren weed. 

The long dead years have failed to change 

The purpose of the free; 
The hearts of nations throb with blood 

That dyed Thermopylae. 

And mothers then, as mothers now, 

Like Mary, meek and mild; 
For each did bend, at close of day, 

To kiss her sleeping child. 



THE LITTLE BOrS DRUM 

All day long he beat the drum 

And marched with steady tread, 
Till twilight fell, and mother's voice 

Had called him off to bed; 
Then he laid it down with a tender kiss 

And a shake of his golden head; 
"I'll teep my dwum and go to war 

'En I dets big," he said. 

He loved to watch the shadows creep 

Across the silent hill; 
He dreamed that they were soldiers brave 

Who came to fight and kill; 
And loud he clapped his chubby hands 

When in the sun they died; 
"I won't be 'fwaid to fight and die 

'En I dets big," he cried. 

Alas, for us! we blamed the child 

Because he made such noise; 
We wondered why he chose his drum 

From all the other toys — 
So once at night, when the little boy 

Had answered mother's "Come!" 
We searched among his treasures rare. 

And hid away his drum. 

When morning came, the big brown eyes 
Were bright with fever's pain — 

Outside no shadow soldiers played. 
The day was dull with rain; 



19 



A silence lay upon the house, 

Unbroken by the drum; 
At night there were no marching feet 

To answer mother's "Come!" 

There came a day, in after years. 

When the little boy was dead, 
That we took the drum from its hiding place. 

And not a word was said; 
But silently, and tearfully. 

We breathed a childish prayer, 
Then laid it away with a tender kiss, 

And a curl of golden hair. 



/ LOVE THEE, DEAR 

'T is all my song: I love thee, dear, 
When nights are long and seasons drear; 
'Mid deep'ning dusk and dawning glow. 
When rains descend and bleak winds blow; 
Though time brings only a heart that grieves, 
And hopes that fall like autumn leaves; 
Though love's a loss and life's a fear. 
Still this my Song: I love thee, dear. 

'T is all my Prayer: I love thee, dear; 

I feel with thee that God is near. 

I kneel before thy holy shrine. 

To clasp thy tender hands in mine. 

And pray for strength and hope to fight 

Those weary shadows of the night 

That cloak the smile, and bring the tear; 

Still this my Prayer: I love thee, dear. 



20 



INSPIRATION 

Not from the thrill of loving, 
Not from the call of strife, 

But out of pain and sorrow 
Must spring the songs of life. 

For oft in nights of anguish, 
With fear and doubt his theme, 

Some poet, gentle, knowing. 
Will weave a tender dream. 

The hands of toiling children 
That mingle work with pain; 

The hearts of striving mothers 
That long and break — in vain: 

This is the dreamer's knowledge 
That guides the poet's pen 

To teach of greed's dishonor 
In the crowded hives of men. 

When through the troubled millions 
The song in silence creeps, 

A world looks on with laughter. 
Or trembling bows, and weeps. 



21 



SONG OF THE WIND 

The wind sings a song as it hurries along, 

O'er meadow, grove and hill; 
A song of the woods and the dismal plain, 
A song of the harvest's golden grain. 
And of the sunshine and the rain, 

Where autumn lakes lie still. 

As it kisses the cheek of each crag and peak 

Along its onward way, 
It whispers a tale of the love that dies 
In the heavenly depths of those beautiful eyes, 
As the red light fades from morning skies. 

Before the break of day. 

And the song to me is a thought of thee, 

Like a thought from God; 
For, though mv heart's a desolate place, 
Where sin and care have left their trace, 
The storms of Time can never erase 

Where angel feet have trod. 



22 



PREMONITION 

When wise men journeyed from the East 
And brought their gifts of myrrh, 

The mother heart of Mary woke 
And trembling spoke to her: 

"Amid the light encircling Thee — 
The darkness of Gethsemane!" 

They knelt beside the manger bed 

To kiss her holy child, 
And Mary's heart was quick with woe 

And thrilled a message wild: 

"What meaning in Thy life has this — 
The torture of a traitor's kiss?" 

They lifted Him with loving arms 

And cradled him to rest; 
Then Mary's heart leaped up in pain 

And throbbed against her breast: 

"Beyond the arms that cradle Thee — 
A bloody cross on Calvary!" 



23 



WHEN FIRST I SAW TOUR TENDER 
FACE 

When first I saw your tender face 
The morning bells were ringing, 

And over fen, and field and glen, 
A mocking-bird was singing. 

The daisies bowed their pretty heads, 

Your little feet caressing; 
The South wind blew a mist of dew 

To give your lips a blessing. 

The garden envied you your face, 

And set the roses scheming: 
They told the skies to close your eyes, 

And rob them of their dreaming. 

And that is why the roses bloom 

A thousand hues combining. 
And why, at night, with soft delight 

Two other stars are shining. 



When last I saw your tender face 
The evening bells were sighing, 

And over fen and field and glen 
The calm of death was lying. 



24 



THE FALSEHOOD 

Each morn he Hes in his trundle bed 

And sees the great sun rise; 
He shakes the curls of his golden head, 

And rubs his sleepy eyes; 
Then softly steals across the floor 

To climb upon my knee: 
"Is mudder here?" he asks once more; 

"Why won't she tum to me?" 

I cannot tell the little boy 

She died the other day; 
I brush aside a mist of tears, 

And answer: "Gone away;" 
Then off he runs for his horse and drum, 

And shouts aloud in glee: 
"I'll wide my horse and pway at war 

Till mudder tums to me!" 

Again at night, when the little boy 

Ascends the oaken stair, 
And, kneeling, folds his baby hands. 

He breathes her name in prayer: 
"Dear Dod, pwease bwing my mudder home. 

I hear him softly pray, 
"Yes, God will bring her home to you 

In the morning, dear," I say. 



25 



The tears that fell for Lazarus 

May fall for me to-day, 
And Christ who died for human men 

Will blot that lie away; 
For, through the dark of coming years, 

A day is breaking dim, 
When the tender light of eternal dawn 

Will bring her home to him. 



A FAREWELL 

I have no parting word to say. 
My heart is all too full to-day; 
But I will kneel and meekly pray 
God's grace and love. 

I ask that He may tender be. 
In sending now this cross to me, 
That all the years may speak of thee. 
Thro' my poor life. 

And though all time may ne'er atone 
For the grieving heart whence hope has flown, 
I thank Him much that I have known 
Thy soul's great trust. 

For while I bow my head and grieve, 
I feel, that now in taking leave, 
With parting's cross I yet may weave 
A mem'ry's crown. 

26 



THE ROAD TO HAPPINESS 

"I seek the Road to Happiness," 

The weary pilgrim said; 
"My hands are torn, my garments worn, 

My feet from thorns have bled." 

O feet that tread the endless road, 
When did ye bear another's load ? 

"I seek the Road to Happiness," 

The weary pilgrim cried; 
**I gave up all to heed its call. 

Yet all I am denied." 

O narrow mind that thinks of self. 
What other man has shared thy wealth .? 

"I seek the Road to Happiness," 

The weary pilgrim pled: 
"And hearts that know, I pray thee show 

The way that I must tread." 

O doubting soul, the good you do, 
In happiness comes back to you. 



V 



LULLABY 

Close thy eyes and softly dream 

Till morning comes with golden gleam, 

While here beside thy bed I keep 

A vigil o'er thy peaceful sleep. 

No thought shall dim thy face with tears 

No doubt arise of coming years; 

For Mother's watchful heart will pray 

That angel hands may guard thy way. 

So drift and dream, and dream and drift, 

Until the night's dark shadows lift. 

Thy father's barque is on the sea. 

But morn will bring him home to thee. 

I see thee smile now in thy sleep — 

A sign of calm upon the deep, 

A token that the stars tonight 

Will guide thy father's ship aright. 

I dream his nightly kiss is mine, 

I kiss thee now — and it is thine. 

So sleep and smile, and smile and sleep. 

The morn will bring no cause to weep. 



28 



UNREQUITED 

Go toward that goal where thou wouldst be, 
And going, leave no word behind 
To comfort heart or ease the mind 
Of demon fancies Love must find; 

Lest in my doubting eyes thou see 

A tortured soul's deep agony. 

I do not dare thy hand to take, 

For in thy clasp my hand would say: 

" My love is thine, though cast away. 
Will e'er be thine, by night, by day;" 

Lest in that clasp my heart would break; 

And I must smile, for thy dear sake. 



29 



THE NEW TEAR 

The year is dead, to-night, 

.\nd so are fears; 
A tender gleam of light 

Creeps thro' our tears. 

Our trembling arms have pressed 

The voiceless dead; 
Our falt'ring lips caressed. 

And left unsaid. 

Through davs that are to dawn 
I hear a voice: 
"Be still, O hearts that mourn, 
Sad souls, rejoice. 

"The strength of faith will hide 
The depths of pain; 
The dreams of love that died 
Will bloom again." 



TRANSFORMA TION 

The tares had stolen mv garden, 

Mv plants were barren of seeds; 
The birds were lost in their silence, 

-\nd rocking to sleep on the reeds. 
Then sweet ^s the rain on the pathway 

Thv musical footfalls rang: 
You blp.shed — and the roses were blooming, 

You spoke — and the nightingale sang! 



30 



THE DREAM TRAIN 

The sunlight fades, and shadows creep 
In from the fields at close of day, 

To bring a train thro' realms of sleep 
To lands where happy children play. 

The train is only a train of dreams, 
And yet 't is safe from earthly harms, 

For the guide's a guide the world esteems. 
Each sleeping car a mother's arms. 

The road is only a dreamy mile; 

Along its tracks the flowers He. 
The fare is but a mother's smile, 

And the soothing notes of a lullaby. 



31 



EfOLUTIOX 



Hoe bcs^ mT wiiKloir grows 
A tender plant that bote ai rose. 
Eack moanig, wiKn the son again 
Had come to li^ m^ ^bomr pane, 
I bent above the blossom fair 
To maiTcl xt its fragrance rare. 
And dteam it snle its cmnsoo red 

Alas! I woke one aofmn moin 
To find the rose I kinred im gonc- 
I WMMleied wfar the blossom went 
Arc -srhere it? uiiii M wi hoe wias spent. 



L ; . rait. I've lored tbe grace 

Wiix-c :.-;^- :.ci.w. m onr de2r face, 



OLD RUIXS 



To : . : decar, 

day. 

And now wiicn onlr snails entwine 
The poet's haip with stiings of rost. 

Fond memofj dnigs, like the nnr-^ine. 
To tieasoied d r p^«"y that lie in dust. 



XATURE- WORSHIP. 

I have DO deep philosophv that leads 
My mind astrav in channels wliere 
My soul must grope, through dairkness, fejc 
The light that guides me back to God 
And faith again. 

But Nature speaks to mc 
In wondrous moods that leave no doubdi^ fears. 
No vain regrets, no longings unfulfilled. 
Her voice is sweet with music that has swaved 
The souls of centuries: her heait stQl throbs 
With love unchangeable, A chosen friend 
In happiness, her laughing streams reflect 
My jovs. vet hold no mirror to tlie past 
Wherein I see my old dead seif. When death 
Has robbed me of some friend I loved, from words 
Of men I catch faint giimmeiings of Kfe 
Beyond the vale whose shadows rest opon 
Our treasured dead, and doak an endless dream 
\S e know not of: then Natures tfaoosand tsm^ass 
Proclaim her maiesr*- and lure mv soul 
To svlvan sohtudes, where, face to face 
With God, I learn of immortalinr. 

There is an altar, buik bv Him, oi rocks 
Where dawn awakes her sweetest-sin^in^ birds. 
Where violets breathe an incense to the breeze^ 
And oak-trees lay their sacrifice of leaves. 
The church of man has made me bear the cross 
That Jesus bore, has made me wear the crown 
Of thorns thev wove about his head, and reel 
The nails that pierced his hands. No agonv 
Of loss IS here: the violet drops its seeds. 
And where thev fall a thousand blossoms rise; 



The acorn sheds its cup of death, and springs 
To life. A resurrection morning glows 
Thro' flow'ring Mays: in every tree I feel 
A God, a Jesus in each bursting bud. 



THE RIVALS 

When darkness falls and stills my voice, 
Mv rival. Wind, against her pane, 

With tearful sighs and pleadings casts 
The love-song of his kinsman, Rain. 

" Her heart is mine," I laugh in scorn, 
" And where you weep, the gardens bear 

Red roses for my ladv's breast, 
And violets for her golden hair." 

"Some dav she's mine," my rival sneers; 

" You love her much, but can you sow 
Fair violets in an empty skull. 

And roses on a breast of snow : " 



34 



WEARINESS 

I'm weary, that's all, — 
Of the town's long dav 
And the noisy street; 

I must wander off 
Down the woodland way 
Where the air is sweet, 

To hear the sad notes 

Of a lone whip-poor-will 

As they float o'er the graves, 
The graves on the hill — 

The graves, sweetheart, the graves on the hill. 

I'm weary, that's all, — 
For the glimpse of a sky. 
For the kiss of a breeze; 

I want to go home 
Where the meadows lie 
In the shade of the trees. 

To hear the wild waves 

With their murmuring roar 

As they break o'er the graves. 
The graves on the shore — 

Thy grave, sweetheart, thv grave on the shore. 



35 



FORSAKEN 

A change has come 
Upon my world; 

Its drums are still, 
Its flags are furled. 

The garden of 
My heart is bare; 

Yet, long ago, 

A dream was there. 

Its silence hears 
An empty plea, 

That sounds most like 
Gethsemane. 

For death is near: 
Because of thee, 

My soul must know 
A Calvary. 



36 



ANTIETAM 

On paths that were made by the crash of a 

wheel, 
Where thunder of guns and the tempests of steel 
Once sowed a red rain of passion and pain, 
A morning has dawned, and out of it grows 
The tear of the dew in the heart of a rose. 



LIFE'S ARTISTS 

The Artist Youth made of her face 

A canvas chastely fair; 
The Artist Love took tender brush 

And traced his image there. 

Life's pictures change, — in after years 

I saw her face again: 
Both Youth and Love had passed away 

And left the Sculptor Pain. 



37 



DESTINY 

With hands grown gray in ancient dust 
Which marks the pride old Athens wore, 

Fate held the blade that Brutus thrust 
And hewed the cross that Jesus bore. 



IN AUTUMN 

The summer lays her laurels 
Upon the autumn's shrine; 

But what is her sad dying 
To this glad heart of mine r 

For though the summer flowers 
Forsake their dwelling place, 

I find a thousand roses 
In the garden of thy face. 

And if the autumn darkness 
Must veil the tranquil skies, 

I seek a starry heaven 

In the haven of thine eyes. 



38 



MOONRISE 

The night wind sighs amid the pines 

Like one in pain; 
The meadow grass in waving lines 

Bends to the rain. 

A cottage sheds its feeble light 

Upon the hill; 
And, rising from the womb of night, 

Low groans the mill. 

The rolling skies reveal a rift 

Of gold and blue: 
The wind is still; the storm clouds drift 

The moon creeps through. 

From out the pines the nightingale 
Sends forth his call, 

And on the silver of the vale 
Dark shadows fall 



39 



THE VALLEY OF THE SHEXJXDOJH 

The sunset flickers on thv stre-un. and from its 
crimson glow 

The shadow ot our fancy fonns the shades oi 
long ago; 

The tremor of thv voice has stirred the heart's 
unfathomed deep. 

Where rest the loves oi other davs and lost am- 
bitions sleep. 

The tide of rears has turned to vield a stem and 

martial tread — 
The paths ot life resounding with the footfalls of 

the dead; 
And down the vales of EHxie, where the meadows 

meet the sea. 
Come men to fight with Jackson, and men to die 

for Le^. 

Tsst fades the sunlight from the stream, and 
w^hisp'nns twilight comes 

With cricket chirps for irum|>et calls and thimder- 
tiirobbing drums; 

But memon' sees on everr hill and each descend- 
ing lane 

A hig^hwav of the nadon with the h«-oes it has 
slain. 

The twilight deepens into night, and flashing fire- 
flies cre^ 

Ficxn grasses wfaoe the past has sown the camp- 
fire's smould'nne heap; 

The nurter of old banners falls like music on the 
air, 

Tlieir Ixexdi of passion dvin£ to the whisper ol 
a leaver. 



AC- 



Not dead, rhese treasured dreams that hold a 

people's hopes and fears. 
But blazoned forth in mights' deeds that thunder 

down the years 
To stir the souls of men unborn, and there to 

build, at last. 
The nation of the future from the shadows of 

the past. 



RECONCILED 

My grieving heart has known again my boyhood 
days, 
And felt anew the thrill of treading with bare 
feet 
The rocky mountain path close-hid in drifting 
haze, 
Where stand the never-changing pines in silence 
sweet; 
My weary hmbs have lain at rest in grasses where 
The drowsy East wind blows the first faint flush 
of dawn. 
And autumn night descends with harvest-scented 
air 
To break the waiting stillness of the tasseled 
corn. 

The woodland road has borne the burden of my 
tread, 
And hushed its rustling leaves to hear my falHng 
tears. 
For in the solitude that gave me back my dead 
I caught the meaning of the barren waste of 
years; 
The calm I sought was here — in golden harvest 
yields, 
In softly singing streams and tranquil, smiling 
skies; 
Through all the world a murmur ran: "The 
silent fields 
And w^oods are peace for aching hearts and 
tear-dimmed eyes." 



42 



A PRATER 

The hands and hearts that bHndly ding 

To memories of dead lips and hair, 
Beneath their doubting silence keep 

An inward eloquence of prayer. 
As punished children in the dark 

Bewail the absent mother's knee, 
These groping hands and grieving hearts, 

O Lord, confess their need of thee. 
Kind Father, grant the mirthless ones 

The tenderness of motherhood, 
And wake in wa}^ward souls the cry, 

"We will be good! We will be good!" 



43 



FRAGMENTS 

Asleep, we come from out the soundless deep 
Whose surges break upon an unknown shore, 

And when our eyes unclose, they droop, and weep, 
For dreams we long since knew, yet have no 
more. 



Our little life is but a hopeless quest 

To solve the secret dream of what has been 

We taste it on the trembling lips of Love, 
Or lose it in the yawning depths of Sin. 



A pulsing rose will scent the tranquil night. 
Perchance a nightingale will throb a song, 

And then, when fall the dreary rays of light. 
We are but shadows in a passing throng. 



I feel that in the darkness after death 

The stars will light the silence of the skies, 

And, ere we lay our weary limbs to rest, 

The mist that veils an endless dream will rise. 



44 



